


hold your head high, heavy heart

by fogsrollingin



Series: Sam Whumpchester 🎃 Whumptober 2020 [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Caring Dean Winchester, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Sam Winchester, Post-Episode: s01e01 Pilot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27111112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fogsrollingin/pseuds/fogsrollingin
Summary: Takes off immediately after the pilot, Sam's grief and Dean picking up the ol' dusty mantle of 'big brother'
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Sam Whumpchester 🎃 Whumptober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947565
Comments: 14
Kudos: 60
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	hold your head high, heavy heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is my next entry for Whumptober 2020! Prompts filled are no 19. “grief” and no. 23 “exhaustion.” 
> 
> Title from The Academy Is...'s song The Phrase That Pays. The song's not that relevant but I just really like the lyric, haha
> 
> [Link to this story on tumblr.](https://fogsrollingin.tumblr.com/post/632448368281632768/title-hold-your-head-high-heavy-heart-author)
> 
> [Link to this story on FFnet](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13725014)

Sam had a shirt, jeans, hoodie, a jacket, sneakers.

Nothing else had survived the fire. It had burned hotter than anyone could account for. Well, anyone who didn't know how hot demons could burn.

Sam had Dean and the Impala too, all the familiar tools in their arsenal under the trunk's fake bottom. He'd torn himself off of Dean, away from the fire, the blaze haunting him in his mind's eye. He stalked his way over to where Dean had parked. Dean followed, practically stepping on his heels and when Sam stood at the end of the car Dean responded smoothly, unlocking it and backing up, watching, waiting for any other signals he could use to help his brother.

It was dark, just the flashing lights of emergency vehicles scattered around the street. Sam's breaths were audibly wet. Dean saw tears fall over the shotgun he'd grabbed to crack open and load. Sam could do it blindfolded, same as Dean. The practice was empowering, comforting, and a promise for retribution all rolled into one and Dean wasn't surprised when Sam said "we got work to do."

They got into the car. Sam manically sniffed and wiped his face. "Ah, I need-I need a legal pad or something." His hands shook.

"Glove compartment."

Sam found it. Dean started the car and pulled away.

"Where are you going?"

"Um, motel-?"

Sam shook his head. "Library. Take a left up here." He pointed out and ducked back down to write.

Dean cinched his mouth to the side but followed Sam's instructions. Sam scribbled furiously in the dim shafting streetlights. Dean decided against asking what he was doing just yet and followed the signs to the library.

They pulled up to the giant building and Dean looked his fill as Sam remained hunched over the pad. Ordinarily Dean would make a joke, they'd taken a wrong turn and ended up in Sam's heaven. Something along those lines.

He sighed and watched his brother in the dark of the car. Sam's hair was hiding a lot of his profile but nothing hid the tremors in his hand, the shaky handwriting that came of it. Eventually Sam began to slow down. Dean tilted his head and put his arm along the back of the bench seat. Sam tensed. Dean wanted to pull him into a hug but he didn't. Sam stopped scribbling altogether and flipped the pad back to its first page.

He swallowed, staring at the paper. "Can I use your phone?"

"Yeah, of course." Dean got it from his pocket and handed it over. It hadn't occurred to him Sam had lost his phone in the fire too. If he hadn't, Sam's phone would probably be ringing off the hook right now. Sam had friends, Dean knew. Probably a lot of them.

Sam sniffed and dialed 411. "I need the number for Gregory and Sandra Moore, they live in Orange County." Sam's voice was soft but determined. Dean wanted to dissuade him from being the one to make this call but he held his tongue.

Sam repeated the number back to confirm before he thanked the operator and hung up. He stared at it.

"Sam-" Dean started and suddenly Sam was dialing the number, putting the phone to his ear, his jaw locked, his hand gripping the car door handle like Dean was going a hundred.

Dean looked at the giant clock above the library steps. It was nine-thirty, indecent for professional calls but within an acceptably late zone for personal ones.

It was so quiet in the car that Dean could hear the phone ringing against Sam's ear. It rang six times, Sam grinding his teeth on every one. It went to their machine. Sam hung up and redialed immediately.

Just after the fourth ring, someone picked up. "Hello?" Slightly suspicious. Caller ID. Sam froze, his throat clogged up, eyes welling as he gathered the courage to speak.

Dean went to squeeze his shoulder. He only brushed him and Sam was launching himself out of the car, away from Dean.

It kind of hurt; felt like rejection.

Dean stayed in the car for a minute, his window rolled down, watching and listening unobtrusively as Sam managed to use a normal voice to identify himself, to share he was just using his brother's phone so that's why it showed up on the caller ID with a weird name. Sam paced along the sidewalk, the beautiful campus lawn and flower-lined paths with the elegant library looming as a backdrop. There were even some solar powered spotlights on the flowers, on some sculptures in the distance, on the clock tower. It was windy and humid. Someone was eating In 'N Out nearby, Dean smelled it with numb appreciation. It was all so surreal to notice before he heard Sam pause for a long time and the wind carried his voice as he said, "Sandra, Jess's dead," before falling into soft cries. Dean got out and started towards him. Sam took a deep, rattling breath into the phone. "There was a fire. I couldn't save her."

It was so slow and just as surreal to see his brother hunch in on himself and fold under the weight. He didn't stop until he was on his knees, one palm on the pavement, the other white-knuckling Dean's cell to his ear. "I'm so- I'm so sor-"

But Dean pulled the phone out of Sam's hand before he could further implicate himself.

"Dean, what the hell," Sam murmured dazedly, shocked out of his tears.

"It's okay, I'm just gonna-" Dean pressed the phone to his ear and put his finger up. "Sandra Moore, this is Sam's brother. I was there too."

"It's not true," the woman sobbed over the phone. Dean didn't even know this woman but his eyes teared at the sounds of a mother's fresh grief-stricken denial. Sam was clutching his stomach, kneeling on the sidewalk and rocking. Dean couldn't just stand by so he got on his knees too, right next to Sam, and hefted his brother against him. Sam let him, even slumped against him a little so Dean kept his arm around Sam. "It's true, ma'am. There was a fire less than an hour ago. Sam almost died trying to save her. But..."

"No no no no-" she trailed off like she'd dropped the phone. Dean's lip trembled and he hugged Sam closer. He heard distant voices in the house, Sandra wailing, a man trying to get her to tell him what was wrong. Muffled silence, then a young scream of pure anguish, maybe from a little sister, and Dean breathed through the sting in his eyes and sorrow in his heart for them, for Sam. Suddenly the phone rustled like someone was picking it back up.

"Hello? Hello!? Are you still on? Sam!?"

Dean coughed. "Um, no sir, this is Sam's brother. I was-"

"I would like to speak to Sam, please." Barely unrestrained hostility in Gregory Moore's tone. Dean was impressed. He looked over and Sam's wide, wet eyes were staring back. He'd heard. Sam swallowed and nodded, taking the phone back from Dean.

Dean gave Sam space as he pulled himself together by just staring at the sidewalk for a couple seconds. A heavy exhale, then he pressed the cell to his ear.

"Gregory-" he stopped, listening. "Ye-es," his voice trembled. "An hour ago. "They'll, um, they'll be at your door soon." Dean saw a new tear break free and roll down Sam's cheek and then another. His voice was brittle for what he said next. "No, she didn't suffer. Carbon monoxide poisoning. She was asleep."

—

By the time they shuffled into the library lobby using the code to a smaller entrance on the side of the building that Sam knew (because of course Sam would know that), Sam had ricocheted back to fury that he was clearly going to channel into research of some kind. Dean was exhausted. As they stepped under the harsh fluorescent lighting he realized they both looked ghoulish. Red-rimmed eyes from the smoke just as much as the tears, soot all over their hands and faces. Sam had tear-tracks, now dry, all along the hollows of his cheeks and tapering off by his chin.

"Dude does anybody work here right now?"

Sam shrugged. "Why?"

"We're gonna draw some attention looking the way we do."

"Just follow me," Sam dismissed and headed down a hallway. Dean huffed. The hallways echoed as they moved until finally Sam opened a door and Dean only realized it was a small room until he'd stepped inside. Dim lighting, an old wooden rectangular study table that'd fit six comfortably, and a light gray foam triangle texture lining the walls.

"What-?"

"It's a soundproof study room."

Dean made a face, too many tasteless jokes that would normally make Sam roll his eyes and laugh and he couldn't say any of them. It even had a long window to the hallway. Total peepshow vibes.

"This'll be our base," Sam said, nodding to himself and slamming his legal pad down on the table.

Dean nodded and leaned against the door, folded his arms and licked his lips. He waited for the next thing Sam would say, but Sam was just looking at his legal pad, eyes blazing on the names of Jessica's parents. Dean could see there were other names, just names, below them.

Suddenly Sam came to life again, feeling around his pockets and coming up empty. He looked up. "Can I have your phone again?"

"Gonna run up the charges using 411?" Dean asked as he handed it over anyway.

Sam huffed, the best he could do to let Dean know he found it funny, and flipped it open.

Dean frowned and watched Sam sit down as he dialed 411 again. "Hi, yeah, I have a list of names I need phone numbers for, is that all right? I lost my phone and these people are in my cluster for a project that's due in like two days."

Dean's brow furrowed. Sam was gonna methodically get the numbers of his friends instead of just a few to come be with him-? In a time like this, didn't normal people gather their closest friends around them?

Maybe Sam had only really connected with Jessica. Or maybe he was distancing himself from it, going really objective and treating his friends like potential persons of interest like on a case. Dean didn't know if Sam had ever confided in any of them about the supernatural underbelly of the world but he was pretty sure regardless Sam would need to see them to feel better. An estranged brother who never knew her wasn't gonna be the single pillar of support that'd get Sam through this. No matter how much woman-in-white ass they'd just kicked together, no matter how much Dean loved him.

And Dean really truly loved Sam. Although admittedly the past few years his role as a son and solo hunter had dulled him to the 'big brother' glow he'd always had. He'd become more callous and apathetic about Sam in general. He could talk shit about Sam to dad and strangers alike with ease. He'd shoved the loyalty he'd felt for Sam into a dark corner, let it shrivel in stagnant air.

There was a kernel though. Dean still wore the amulet. He'd heard Dad's solid voice, the EVP in the back of the message, and he'd gotten drunk trying to figure out what to do when the case is your missing dad. Wasn't it like how surgeons shouldn't operate on loved ones? Or detectives can't be assigned their relatives' cases? And then from that, Dean got the idea to loop Sammy in, because two emotionally compromised detectives trying to find their missing father was better than one-?

Probably not.

Dean found himself going with it anyway. He didn't want to be alone. And maybe it'd been long enough, so much water having passed under the bridge that Sam would want to be looped in. Who knew? You never knew until you checked.

When Sam and him had been together hunting that woman in white, Dean eventually admitted to himself that even he was surprised by the depth and intensity of his feelings for Sam. He'd forgotten how well they fit together, how good their playful banter could be, how much they offset each other's shortcomings, and especially how protective he was of Sam. It was like he couldn't look at the kid without seeing a montage of Sammy's most iconic, endearing moments growing up. Made him wanna barf.

That was before though. Dean was shown there were much better reasons to throw up than getting sentimental over your little brother after four years' estrangement. Stuff like losing the love of your life to a demon who'd gutted her, strung her up on a ceiling and burst her body into flames.

Sam was still getting numbers from the 411 operator when Dean decided he needed some air. He opened the door.

"Where are you going? Dean!?"

Shocked by Sam's tone, Dean turned to find Sam wide-eyed and stock-still, ignoring the operator, looking up at him like the dog in one of those movies where the owner says _stay_! and the dog stays as it watches the owner abandon it.

"I..." Dean couldn't say he just wanted some air now, not with Sam looking like that. "Bathroom. I'll be right back, Sammy."

Sam took a second, blinked out of whatever-that-was, and nodded to Dean.

"Sorry," he coughed into the phone, "I'm back."

Dean hesitated by the door. Sam gave him a thumbs up. Dean nodded and slipped out.

The door closed. Silence. He'd prefer some Metallica.

Sam gathering intel into the night like it was just another case was fraying his nerves. He needed _his_ version of control now, and fucked if his big brother skills weren't slamming back into him right now.

Sam was probably going to pull an all-nighter here with a plan to interview people the following morning. Dean wasn't going to waste any effort in trying to stop him. His brother was entitled to handle this in whatever way he chose. He gripped his keys tight, a shiver ran down his spine as his standard "I'm just along for the ride" vibe he'd cultivated with temporary partners on hunts shifted gears into something so achingly familiar, so comforting and powerful at the same time. He wasn't just along for the ride this time.

—

Dean was gone for longer than a normal bathroom break and Sam was breaking apart molecule by molecule as the time stretched out. The 411 operator had asked him before if he was alright and he'd answered correctly but this time she asked and Sam just zoned out, the trilling in his ears piercing through time and space and freezing everything in the world, even his vision had stilled and he hyper-focused on the sooty plains and valleys of the veins and wrinkles of his skin as his hand held a pen.

A door closed and snapped him out of it. Dean was hustling in, laden with stuff that smelled so much like the Impala, like home, that Sam felt tears starting to well up again even as he assured the operator he was fine, sorry, bad connection.

"Hang up the phone, will you? Take a break."

Sam had more names to get numbers for but he was so relieved Dean came back that he did as he was told.

"I'm good for now, thank you so much for your help. Bye." Sam pressed 'end' and looked at his brother surveying his spoils from the Impala.

It was irrational for Sam to think Dean would've abandoned him but his emotions were going haywire. He'd already experienced one of his deepest fears tonight so hey maybe another one could manifest itself too.

"Let's start here," Dean announced and set down a worn plastic water bottle that'd been refilled too many times and a roll of paper towels.

Sam didn't know what he was suggesting until Dean ripped off a couple paper towels, poured a liberal amount of water over it, and scrubbed his face with it. Sam nodded and followed suit immediately. It felt good. There was grit in his eyes and so much soot he needed additional towels for his neck and hands. Dean spotted more along his hairline and together they discovered Sam's longer hair had been like a net for ash as well. Dean used the last of the roll dragging the paper towels through Sam's strands. His hair was wet by the end of it but his spirits were higher; it'd been so immediate and tactile and Dean's presence so engaging with his comedic disgust that Sam even chuckled a couple times.

Dean picked through a few more things and dropped them in front of Sam. "Here, I want you to change into these."

Sam's eyes narrowed on the pile. "Why these?"

Dean turned and started taking his own clothes off. "The jeans are a little long on me. The rest is whatever," Dean gestured to the rest of his clothes. Sam could take his pick.

Gingerly, Sam stood to undress. Dean studiously ignored Sam's progress as he changed his own clothes as slowly as possible so as not to rush Sam, eventually procuring a plastic bag that could hold their singed, smokey laundry.

When Dean turned and saw Sam in his clothes, it wasn't even any particular thing. It was just that Sam was wearing his clothes, how Sam always wore his hand-me-downs, how Sam seemed comfortable in them now too.

More barfy sentimentalism. Who _was_ he around Sam!? How did the kid turn him into a character from a Lifetime movie, seriously?

Sam wasn't even noticing Dean's reaction. He sat back down at the table feeling relatively clean with his clothes smelling like the Impala and his brother, and he could breathe.

He took the phone in his hand and flipped it open with a resolved sigh. Before he dialed, Dean spoke.

"Sammy, I gotta go out again for a little bit."

"For what?" Everything Dean had was in the car.

"Gonna pick up some snacks. Maybe book a room."

Sam's mind short-circuited. "But _this_ is our base, Dean. I... said it," he added dumbly.

Dean nodded his approval as he looked around. "We're gonna need to take showers at some point though."

Sam slumped. "You're right. Okay." Sam rubbed his eyes.

"I'll be back in half an hour, okay? An hour, max. Here's the cell phone number to another phone I've got in the Impala. Use that to get a hold of me." Dean slid the piece of paper over to Sam. His brother pressed it against the legal pad at the top, nodding slowly.

"Okay. See ya," Dean whispered, slightly unnerved to leave Sam looking like this, bereft and forlorn, but it was getting late. They were both starting to need things the adrenaline of tonight's horror and tragedy couldn't feed. He took off without another backward glance. Like ripping a band-aid off. Sam would be fine.

Dean found a 7-11 and bought some subs in saran wrap, a couple apples, Gatorade, and beef jerky. He found a 24 hour laundromat and stopped to throw his and Sam's clothes in a washer. Those clothes were Sam's only ones now until he could go shopping. Sooner or later Dean would have to push that but if he got these clothes clean again by morning, he wouldn't have to worry about it till Tuesday.

Tuesday.

And tomorrow was Monday.

Sam's interview.

The sick feeling was back in the pit of Dean's stomach. Dean wasn't so selfless he could say he didn't want Sam to blow it off but things were different now. Dean had been flippant about the opportunity before but that's when Sam had Jessica, when he thought he'd been safe, out of the life. What if Sam saw this as an even bigger opportunity now, to pivot and throw himself into Stanford law school and just rebuild again. Without him.

Rationally, Dean knew there was only the slimmest chance anything like this was really going through Sam's head but neither of them were firing on all cylinders regarding rationality tonight.

Dean threw the idea on the back burner, with a vague sinking sadness he might have to go find Sam a suit by whenever the interview was scheduled, and focused on finding a motel. Ten minutes later he found a satisfyingly small one called the Crown Inn, an L-shaped structure with the office bridge to a giant yellow neon sign that'd attracted Dean from the road.

Dean didn't even check the room or the rest of the motel. He just took the key and hopped back into the Impala, gunned it back to the laundromat and pulled their wet clothes out. He checked his watch. There wasn't time to put them in the dryer. Dean just grabbed a plastic bag and stuffed them in. He'd lay it all out to dry in the library once he got back.

When Dean approached the study room and couldn't see Sam through the window, he couldn't help worry gnawing at him. Surely he'd gone to the bathroom or something but it put Dean on edge. He opened the door and stepped inside, closed it, and set everything down on the table. He dumped the wet clothes out just when he saw movement in the dark corner of the room and startled, swearing up a storm at the sight of Sam there, practically rolled into a ball.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, rushing over. "You okay? What's-" Dean paused. He didn't want to ask what was wrong. "What is it?"

Sam's voice crackled. "I called Dad." He sniffed. "Left a message. Said I wanted in on finding the demon, killing it."

Dean nodded. Sam didn't say anything more. Just shuddered then put his head back down on his knees.

Dean sighed and slid down the wall to a seated position in front of Sam. Everything was so still, silent. Dean played some Metallica in his head to relax.

When it'd been so long that Dean thought Sam might be nodding off, he put his hand on Sam's shin. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam rasped.

"Are there any friends that you want right now?"

Sam shook his head. "Can't trust them. Jessica's a case." The helpless pain in Sam's voice saying that last sentence gutted him.

"We can take precautions if you just choose one or two of them."

Dean could see Sam considering. He rubbed his face and blinked the tears from his eyes. "Maybe later," he nodded, looked up at Dean. "Not right now."

"Totally, sure."

Sam sighed and got to his feet, took his seat back at the table again and reached for the phone. Dean strategically arranged the food around Sam's workspace, laid the wet clothes out, and looked at his watch. 11:59 PM.

Three hours in, Sam zoned out looking at his legal pad and Dean started packing up. He was almost done when Sam blinked and looked around. "What're you doing?"

"We're changing bases. It's a motel not far from here." Sam got that stubborn look in his eyes he'd had since before he'd even turned one.

"I can't."

"I'm not asking you to sleep, just shower. Brush your teeth. You still want to go to your law school interview?" Dean tacked the question on as casually as he could.

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Dean pressed his lips together, kind of upset by how happy that made him. He turned, looked Sam in the eyes. "It's everything you ever wanted on a silver platter," he quoted softly. Sam didn't look away from him, just met Dean's scrutiny with haunted eyes.

"I was wrong. I already had everything I wanted."

Sam wiped the single tear off his face and finally looked down at his research. "Okay, let's go. I'm not focusing very well anymore. A change of venue would be good," he spoke as he got his research together.

Dean blew out a breath of relief and carted them to the Crown Inn. He let Sam have the first shower. He relished his own. When he came back out, Sam had finally crashed. He was asleep, face pressed against his scrawlings on the legal pad. Dean didn't dare move him. The A/C was clamoring but it was doing a good job so Dean chose a pair of worn sweatpants and an undershirt that only had a couple holes in it. He climbed into bed and turned off the light on the nightstand between them. Dean rolled to face the door and window and noticed blue dawn light coming through the gossamer curtains. It'd only grow brighter. That's how daylight worked, he thought in comically sleep-deprived anger. He was tempted to just ignore it but then he remembered he had a traumatized, grieving kid brother to look out for now, who really needed sleep.

He flipped the covers off with a resigned sigh and stumbled over to pull the thick black-out curtains. Not just along for the ride anymore. Not ever again if Sam was joining him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, hope everybody liked this one. I might tack on a time stamp of Sam breaking down going shopping for stuff that perished in the fire 😅🥺️😭
> 
> xoxo Alex


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